


Setting The Pace

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bitter Exes, Confusion, Food, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Priest Kink, Reincarnation, Relationship Negotiation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Treville doesn't get that he's a catch. Richelieu has a plan. Athos, Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan have no idea what is going on. Jussac is having the time of his life.For the prompt: trevilieu: bitter exes forced to work together (modern au, since it's basically canon tbh)





	Setting The Pace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [be_cum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_cum/gifts).



In some towns, people called the police when they thought a situation was beyond their control. Others called the priest.

Some people, it turned out, called both.

Chief Inspector Treville stood outside the house which the neighbors had complained about on the phone, remarking that they heard sounds from inside that were deeply alarming. He’d sent Athos, Porthos and Aramis inside and D’Artagnan had followed them without asking anyone for permission.

Treville sighed. The Chief Superintendent at the local station had asked them to deal with this as a favor, stating that they were far more experienced and that he had to finish doing his paperwork. It was always good to have a good relationship with other police stations, no matter where they were located, so Treville had nodded and fixed his blue tie, ready for another fight. He’d assumed that some petty thieves had broken into the run-down house to stash their loot or that a couple of teenagers had gotten drunk and thought the place was ideal for a party.

He knew a man who would have nodded as well, and thought about cashing in that favor to the Chief Super later on. Treville shook his head to get rid of the thought and trained his eye on the front door. Someone had to stay outside so that when the folks who had broken into the house decided to get out they would walk straight into his arms.

He could hear Aramis shouting prayers from within the house. Porthos was laughing. 

Ah well, perhaps it was just a party, then. That would be a relief.

They’d finished wrapping up their case earlier that morning. The serial killer they’d been hounding for months had hidden himself away in this tiny town for weeks, evading capture. But now he was in custody and they could go back to Paris as soon as this little assignment was over. Most of the paperwork was done and Treville hadn’t seen a proper bed for over a week. Catnaps in the car on their way here and all-nighters were alright for younger men, but Treville just wanted to get home so he could use his days off to sleep.

 The sun was low on the horizon.

The scent of incense reached Treville and a man in black vestments appeared, stepping out of a well-polished black car. Some part of Treville heard the clear sound of copper church bells ringing in the distance, even if there was no midnight mass in the local church tonight.

That body was wasted on a priest.

Then the man turned around and Treville’s heart missed a beat. For a split second, he thought he had overexerted himself so much that he was hallucinating. He fought the urge to rub at his bleary eyes.

“Ah,” said Armand Richelieu, staring at Treville, who just stared back. The last time he’d seen Richelieu was in the man’s office after a very heated, very loud shouting match that had marked the end of their on-and-off relationship.

“I thought you were a politician,” Treville heard himself say, silently thanking the reflexive questioning response that had been drilled into him in police training. “Did you change careers since I last saw you?”

He knew, of course, that Richelieu had studied theology at University. Still, years had passed since they’d seen each other face to face. He could have been ordained and Treville would never have known.

“Merely assisting a friend from University,” Richelieu said, brushing confetti off his sleeve. “Filling in for him since he is stuck in traffic and I was on my way through here, going back to Paris.”

“So, you’re just playing dress-up,” Treville said.

“I can assure you, I have all the qualifications necessary to do the job, Inspector,” Richelieu said. “It was a nice wedding, if a bit rushed. I assume that you are here because you are assisting a colleague?”

Treville nodded, ignoring the fact that Richelieu was blatantly giving him the once over. He crushed down the urge to fix his jacket or rake a hand through his graying hair. Richelieu’s hair looked just as soft as it had felt all those years ago. Damn that man.

He was too tired for this. They were too old for this too.

Damn it all.

Treville edged closer to the house, debating if it would be a good idea to walk around it to see if any windows had been opened. He had already searched the garden.

“Did they call a priest because they think we can’t do our job?” Treville said, sounding harsh, even to his own ears.

Richelieu’s eyes flickered towards Treville. Then he pulled out a cross from seemingly nowhere.

“Additional protection, I suspect,” Richelieu said, inclining his head with a smug look in his eyes. Treville wanted to punch him in the face. “Your men may be efficient, but they are messy and loud. The people of this this town believe that the house must be cleansed, because of those demonic sounds from within.”

Richelieu stepped closer to him and Treville inhaled the scent of expensive yet subtle aftershave and shampoo. There were cat hairs on Richelieu’s polished shoes. With Richelieu watching him, Treville didn’t feel like a highly respected and accomplished Chief Inspector, but just a policeman that had managed to get to this place with a smattering of luck and a few well-placed arrests.

“Going to burn sage and sing hymns, then?” Treville shot back.

Athos had started shouting and Aramis’s prayers had become louder and oddly enough, angrier-sounding. The scent of burning rosemary and pine filled the air. What was going on in there?

Well, there went Treville’s chance of sending Richelieu inside that house and watching him put that theology degree to good use.

“If your men’s administrations don’t do the trick, I will do my best to help matters,” Richelieu remarked, sounding dutiful.

And if Treville knew anything about Richelieu, he was a man who valued duty. It had been one of the cornerstones of their relationship, their shared understanding of the weight and importance of their duty to their country and other people.

Richelieu was a rising star in politics. He’d be Prime Minister one of these days. There was no way in hell that he wanted to get back together with someone like Treville, no matter how well he’d do in the police. No political gain in having a relationship with a police officer who spent most of his days supervising his men and walking the streets of Paris.

And here he was, standing so close to Treville that their arms brushed. Treville was ready to step away and make some comment about needing to check on his men when he felt an arm on his shoulder.

He could have shrugged him off. Left whatever remains of what they had behind. He was a damn professional police officer. He knew how to disengage. Must have been the scent of incense and the exhaustion, doing weird things to Treville’s brain. For a split second in the fading sunlight, Richelieu’s black outfit looked blood red. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” Richelieu said, sounding almost fond. Almost wistful. “A fixed point in a changing world, Chief Inspector.”

Treville blinked. 

Was that an insult? Hadn’t he changed for the better in those last years? Hadn’t he gotten promotions and arrested criminals?

He turned around to see that Richelieu was looking at him with appreciation in his eyes. The sensible option would be to leave. A tactical retreat. But that would be backing away from a fight.

Richelieu had always been a worthy opponent. He always would be.

“Have you changed?” Treville asked, shrugging. “You’re still covered in cat hair.”

That might have been the wrong thing to say, since Richelieu smiled and spread his hands, as if he readily admitted to this fault in his character.

“As you know, my dear Inspector, there aren’t enough lint rollers in the world to get it off on a day-to-day basis,” Richelieu said.

Treville kept his eyes off the man’s hands. The memory of how they had felt gripping his hips and cupping his jaw threatened to resurface.

He kept quiet for a long moment. His job meant that he was often sweaty and covered in mud up to his knees, so he had nothing to say about personal hygiene to a man who was probably wearing a crisp, tailored suit underneath those vestments.

Not that he’d get the chance to find out if he was wearing a suit. Nonetheless, his mind helpfully supplied him with increasingly interesting scenarios where he had the opportunity to take those vestments off…

“Chief Inspector!” D’Artagnan called, slamming the front door open. “It was just some couples having…an interesting time.”

D’Artagnan’s face was bright red. He made several awkward gestures to indicate that he was out of his depth.

“What?” Treville said. “Then why was Aramis shouting prayers?”

Porthos and Athos came into view and both shrugged when Treville repeated his question.

“I don’t want to know,” Athos said. “At least we didn’t have to arrest anyone. We can just get back to Paris right away.”

“Those teenagers had some problems with volume control, sir,” Porthos said, grinning. “Thought they could stay in that house and be as loud as they liked.”

Treville closed his eyes and sighed.

“The Chief Superintendent will want a report,” Treville said, watching as Aramis began walking around the house, muttering the Lord’s Prayer underneath his breath.

“Just in case there is a demon there too, sir!” he said.

“Go back to the station and speak to the Chief Super after Aramis has finished,” Treville said.

“What are you going to do, sir?” Porthos asked, eyeing Richelieu, who was watching Aramis’s progression.

“We have some catching up to do,” Treville said, gesturing to Richelieu. He hadn’t known what he was going to say before he’d just said that and was half-startled at this admission. It was better to get it over with, this inevitable conversation they were going to have about their relationship. Otherwise Richelieu would just show up at the station or something, looking ridiculously dashing and cultured. Somehow, he never managed to separate himself completely from the man. Every time he thought Richelieu was gone, he’d pop up like this.

His men didn’t look happy about leaving him behind, but they didn’t argue. Richelieu’s expression didn’t change at all. He just stayed beside Treville, far too close for someone who is supposed to be working as a priest. Then again, personal space hadn’t been something they’d been very good at.

Talking to Richelieu alone always felt like an intense exam about code-switching. Richelieu didn’t move or speak like a police officer, nor a priest or a civilian. His vocabulary was refined and his clothes were fancy, all movements smooth.

Treville always had to adjust his thinking and dig around in his mind for appropriate responses to Richelieu’s comments. It was fun, sometimes. But often it was exhausting, like driving a car that you hadn’t even sat in for years.

When the boys had left, Richelieu smiled.

“If I recall correctly, you know quite a few things about volume control,” he said, already on his way to the car.

“If you want someone to fix your car’s radio, you are not talking to the right person,” Treville replied. Like hell was he going to say anything about covering Richelieu’s mouth with his hand during sex. They were standing out in the open right now. Anyone could hear them.

The glass window on the driver’s side slid down to reveal a smiling Jussac. He waved cheerfully at Treville, who nodded in return.

“The radio works just fine,” Jussac said, changing stations so that the music changed from some bouncy melody about spring to a full-on opera.

“I was thinking of walking back to the church,” Richelieu said, making a vague gesture to the right.

“The weather is very fine,” Jussac agreed. “I’ll find a good parking spot and sit outside the inn so I can watch the sunset. Are you going to be joining him, sir?”

Treville blinked and looked at the short route ahead.

“It’s in the same direction as the station,” Treville grumbled, before Jussac could say anything about romantic walks with one’s beloved. “I might as well.”

“Excellent,” Richelieu said, smiling as if a grand plan had just been set in motion and that everything was already in his favor. “I’ll meet you at the inn later on, then, Jussac, and we’ll drive back to Paris.”

“No rush, sir,” Jussac said, and Treville was sure that Jussac had just winked at them. “I’ve got a wonderful sandwich and a thermos full of coffee.”

“If only your men were as well-prepared as those who work for me,” Richelieu said as the car slid out of the parking space and they began walking. Treville couldn’t shake the idea that he’d somehow managed to get kidnapped.

“I don’t train them in the same way,” Treville said. They fell effortlessly into step with each other, as if no time had passed at all. “Let’s try to enjoy our walk.”

“Are you going to pick wildflowers for me like you used to do?” Richelieu asked, just a few minutes later. He sounded hopeful.

“No,” Treville responded, keeping his eyes on the sky, “You haven’t done anything to deserve flowers.”

“Not yet,” Richelieu said. “It’s only a matter of time until we arrive at the church.”

“What has that got to do with you getting flowers?” Treville asked.

“The bride and groom left behind a sack of high-end coffee and a whole lemon tart,” Richelieu said. “If we are lucky, I might be able to find the key to the priest’s quarters so we can have some privacy.”

“You’re trying to bribe me with food and coffee,” Treville said. Also with the possibility of sex, but that wasn’t something you said out loud while talking to a man walking around with a clerical collar.

“An equal exchange, Jean,” Richelieu said. “Flowers for food and some quality time together. I can see from the look on your face that you haven’t eaten anything since this morning.”

“There was work to do and no time for lunch,” Treville reasoned. “You don’t even like lemon tarts.”

“You do,” Richelieu said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world to straight up start courting Treville like this. In a few more minutes, they would reach the church. Treville could see Richelieu’s car parked in front of an inn. “And the coffee is even the sort that you like.”

Treville huffed and bent down and picked a few blue and purple flowers from the roadside, dusting them off and handing them to Richelieu.

Richelieu looked absurdly pleased, looking at his flowers. He opened the heavy church doors and gestured for Treville to come inside.

It was a small church and Richelieu led him straight to a room in the back that served as tiny kitchen, where there was indeed a lemon tart on a small table. For a few minutes, they rummaged around for plates and glasses in the cupboards. Before he knew it, Treville had inhaled two slices and gulped down two glasses of water while the coffee brewed.

Richelieu had taken off his vestments and the clerical collar, revealing a simple but well-tailored black suit. He’d also put his flowers into a glass of water and placed it in the middle of the table, like they were at a fine restaurant instead of a back room.

Treville stood up when the coffee was ready and poured them two cups. He handed Richelieu a mug of coffee, since they hadn’t found any good tea.

“What do you really want?” Treville asked, finally, when the sun had sunk behind the horizon and they had finished their coffee. Richelieu was lighting candles and looked up from fussing with the matches. “Don’t go around playing games with me. This isn’t about you having leftovers that you don’t know what to do with. Unless, of course, that you consider me to be nothing more than some leftovers…”

Richelieu sat down opposite him, abandoning his quest for more light. Perhaps that was fitting. This thing between them had never really existed in the light anyway, always half hidden and pushed aside whenever it became too heavy to carry.

It was almost time to head back to the station. Porthos would be calling his cellphone any minute now. Just as well.

Richelieu was never going to actually make a move anyway. He’d leave this church without any proper answers and spend a few nights dissecting everything they’d said until he’d convinced himself that most of it had been his own imagination playing tricks on him. In a week or so, he could think of this evening and brush off any thoughts about any of it being romantic.

“More time,” Richelieu said, the words sounding heavy in the air.

Treville was on the verge of saying something about Richelieu’s health having taken a turn for the worse when Richelieu covered Treville’s hand with his.

Ah.

Richelieu’s eyes met his and they looked at each other for a long minute.

“I want more time with you,” Richelieu said, looking flustered, which he always did when he felt that things were slipping out of his control or he thought he was out of place. “Not just a few hours every month or so. A long-term relationship.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Treville managed, after a few seconds. Richelieu’s fingers were cold, but now they were gripping his hand. Perhaps he wanted to feel steady and thought that gripping Treville was the way to do it. “But I understand if you want to keep this quiet because of your career.”

Treville gestured between them with his free hand. The water in the glass sloshed when he bumped into the table.

That had always been a part of the deal, although they had never really spoken much about it. The last time they’d been together, his men had known that he was in a relationship, but he’d never elaborated.

A life as a politician, like a policeman, was a life under siege.

“No,” Richelieu said, as if coming to a decision. “I don’t think we should hide. God knows we’ve done enough of that through the years.”

“It would be risky,” Treville clarified. “And I’m no trophy husband.”

“I never thought you were a trophy to be won,” Richelieu said, with a smile on his face. It was the silly, crooked one that would never appear in the papers. “Are you saying yes?”

“Yes,” Treville said. He looked down to see that Richelieu was holding onto both his hands as if for dear life.

Treville’s phone rang, the sound loud in the small room. Treville fished it out of his pocket and answered.

“On my way,” Treville said after listening to Aramis’s complaints about the late hour. “The car is outside. We have to get back to Paris so we remain on schedule.”

“Of course,” Richelieu said, standing up.

They walked to the great front doors, Richelieu humming a hymn of some sort under his breath. He’d put two of the flowers in the pocket where he kept his handkerchief, which was red to match his tie.

Kissing was just as enjoyable as it had been the last time they’d done it. When they parted, Richelieu’s hair was distinctly disheveled and his tie was crooked.

“Until I see you again,” Richelieu said as Treville opened the doors, welcoming the cool air on his hot skin. Treville smiled and waved before turning around and walking to the waiting police car.

“I can tell you’ve been shouting,” D’Artagnan said as soon as Treville sat down and closed the door. “You’re all flushed and your hands are still clenched into fists.”

“Richelieu is hard to figure out,” Aramis said. “When we called his driver, Jussac said that you two were having a private conversation and shouldn’t be interrupted. Then he said something about flowers that didn’t make any sense at all…”

“Why was he wearing that thing, anyway?” Athos asked, from the driver’s seat. Porthos was fiddling with the GPS system on his phone.

“Just drive us back home,” Treville said, leaning back in his seat. He brushed some confetti off his shoulders and closed his eyes. They’d arrive in Paris in two hours and then there would be time for explanations. “I’m going to try to get some sleep before we have to speak to the higher-ups. Good night.”

“Good night, sir,” Porthos, Aramis, Athos and D’Artagnan replied in unison. Just before Treville fell asleep he could hear them whispering about calling Jussac again and demanding more information.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sherlock Holmes reference was just for fun, I couldn't resist putting it in. 
> 
> I'm not sure where the 'that body is wasted on a priest' line came from, it may be from another trevilieu fic, but I just don't remember. 
> 
> This fic was originally supposed to be a 500 word ficlet. Well, no such luck.


End file.
